


Friggin Xmas

by Disasteriffic_Kaz



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Case Fic, Gen, Holidays, Humor, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-20
Updated: 2014-12-20
Packaged: 2018-03-02 07:43:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,280
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2804846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Disasteriffic_Kaz/pseuds/Disasteriffic_Kaz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Coordinates from dad? It must be Christmas. The boys set off on a hunt that will test their patience with holiday cheer. Set in season 1 generally. A little hurt. A little comfort and a lot of humor but basically Sam and Dean being their usual BAMF selves.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Friggin Xmas

**Author's Note:**

> Author's Note: I'm back with a little holiday cheer that I hope makes you all smile. :D I've certainly missed you and playing with our boys.
> 
> My long absence was due to my mom losing her battle with cancer. It was five long weeks sitting with her while she passed and has taken me another month to work through it enough so I can write again. Mom loved this show and my stories. She was a Sam girl. I miss her.
> 
> Beta'd by the always awesome JaniceC678 :D– Friend and Muse's co-conspirator.  
> **Follow me on Facebook as "Disasteriffic Kaz" for frequent fic updates or just to chat!  
> ~Reviews are Love~

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Dean sat at the bar, idly twirling a thin straw in his fingers as he watched his brother across the room at the pool table. He smirked at the dark looks of the two men Sam was playing as his little brother sunk yet another ball and tossed a satisfied smirk at Dean behind their backs. “Attaboy, Sammy,” Dean muttered and took another drink of his beer. Sam had volunteered to do the hustling for a change and get them some much needed cash. Dean had stepped aside with a chuckle and waved Sam on to the pool tables, interested in seeing if college had dulled his brother’s skills at all. So far, it seemed he was just as dangerous with a pool cue as he used to be.

“You boys ain’t gonna be causin’ no trouble in my bar, are ya?” The hefty bartender scratched absently at the underside of his prodigious, dark brown beard and kept an eye on Sam as he ran the table and further irritated the two men he was playing. “I don’t need no trouble round here.”

“Nope. He’s just playin’ some pool.” Dean shrugged and gave the man his best disarming smile. “Just hope the guys he’s playing aren’t sore losers.”

The bartender snorted and patted the top of the bar. “If they are, I got grandad’s ole’ peacemaker under here.” He chuckled. “Reckon it’s cracked more’n’a few hard heads over the years.”

Dean gave the man a hard eye when he heard the sound of raised voices from the pool table. “Better not swing that thing at my brother or I’m gonna crack a few of my own. You got me?”

The bartender watched Dean’s intense gaze for a moment, as if sizing him up and seemed to come to a conclusion. He nodded once. “Like I said, long’s he ain’t the one who starts it.”

Dean turned his head back to Sam and sighed. “It won’t be.” He knocked back the rest of his beer and stood as he saw his little brother take a firm grip on the pool cue with one hand and raise the other in a gesture for peace as the two men advanced on him. He stood and rolled out his shoulders. “Guess they are sore losers after all.”

“Ah, hell.” The bartender gave a sigh of his own and pulled a heavy, wooden half bat from under the counter. The wood was dark, almost black through years of oiling and use with dents small and large that told the story of how many heads it had indeed cracked. “Gonna be one o’ them nights.”

Sam backed up a step to give himself room and watched the two men advancing on him. “Look, guys. I won fair and square.” He snatched the pile of cash off the edge of the pool table and stuffed it into a pocket before someone decided to relieve him of it. He smiled. “You really don’t wanna do this.”

“Oh, I think we do.” The taller of the two men, still a head shorter than Sam, cracked his knuckles menacingly. “I think you’re gonna give us our money back and yours along with it. You cheated.”

Sam shook his head with a smile. “You were watching me the whole time. I didn’t cheat. I just beat your asses.” He groaned as the words left his mouth and winced, wishing he hadn’t chosen that moment to channel his big brother. “You know, I mean, good game.”

From his position where he was hanging back waiting to see how things would unfold, Dean grinned at the comment and readied himself to jump in when the inevitable happened.

“Right.” The taller man lashed out with a fist toward Sam’s face.

Sam reared back, easily avoiding the punch he could see coming a mile away, and brought the pool cue up like a staff, thwacking it into the man’s side before lowering it and sweeping one of his knees so he toppled onto the pool table. “Guys, we don’t have to do this.”

“You asshole!” The shorter man charged at Sam and was brought up short with a yelp as his shirt pulled tight around the front of his neck.

“Heya, Sammy. You done goofin’ around?” Dean grinned and tugged the man off balance with his shirt, letting him flail past and slam back into the wall.

Sam sighed and rolled his eyes at his brother. “I was handling it.”

“I can see that.” Dean raised a brow at the man rolling on the table, holding his knee. “Come on. Let’s…” He broke off at the sound of a grunt behind him and turned to find the bartender standing over the second and shorter man who dropped like a stone to the floor, senseless.

The bartender slapped the bat into his palm and grinned a toothy grin at Dean. “Don’t got no time for sore losers in my place. You boys get on outta here now, a’fore they decide they’re gonna have another go at ya.”

Dean waved at him and turned to give his brother a shove toward the door. “Thanks for the beer.”

Sam snagged his jacket on his way past the bar and shrugged it on as they stepped outside into a heavy snowfall. He pulled the wad of cash out of his pocket and passed it to Dean with a smirk. “They were really pissed.”

Dean took in the mound of twenties and laughed. “I can see why.” He clapped a hand to Sam’s shoulder as they trudged through the snow toward the Impala. “You did good, Sammy.”

“It’s Sam,” Sam replied with a small smile for the name he knew Dean would never stop using and brushed a hand through his hair, dislodging snow as he folded himself into the passenger seat. “And do you know how bad I had to play to get them to bet money?”

“Pretty damn bad.” Dean turned the key, listening to the engine purr to life and chuckled. “I was worried for a minute when I saw you skip that eight ball into the pocket.”

“So where to now?” Sam glanced over and raised a brow. “You’ve got that look on your face.”

“What look?” Dean asked as the wipers cleared snow from the windshield and he backed carefully out onto the road.

“The one that says you got coordinates from dad while I was playing and you don’t want to say anything.” Sam smirked at him.

Dean groaned and rolled his eyes. Being able to read each other like open books came in handy in the field and had saved each of their lives more than once, but it could be damn annoying during the down times. He fished his phone out of his pocket and handed it over. “Fine. Yes, we got new coordinates. Yes, I know it’s almost Christmas and, yeah, once again Dad’s more worried about the hunt than the fat man comin’ down the damn chimney, alright? Happy?”

Sam sighed and took the phone while he pulled the map out of the glove box. “I wasn’t going to say anything.”

“Uh-huh.”

Sam shrugged. “It’s not like it’s a shock, man. It’s just dad.”

Dean scowled as he drove toward a motel and a bed and kept the car from sliding in the slick snow covering the road. Sam may be grown, but Dean still felt like he always had at this time of year, wishing that his little brother could have experienced what Christmas was like before their mother had died. Back then, it had been warm and comforting, cookies and singing and family. He shook his head. Instead Sam had gotten his holidays in one roach motel after another, usually without their father, and whatever scraggly ass tree Dean could scrounge up and pathetic excuses for presents. He didn’t blame Sam for his feelings about their father and Christmas, but Dean had done his best as they grew up.

“Knock it off, Dean.” Sam slapped his brother’s arm when he saw the brooding look on his face and gave him a small smile. “Also, turn around because we’re going the wrong way.”

“Son of a bitch,” Dean snarled but without any real heat. He’d been looking forward to finding a motel and curling up in a warm bed.

“We could start out in the morning.” Sam glanced out at the driving snow and looked back at Dean. “Probably be safer too.”

Dean shook his head. “This town’ll be snowed in by morning. May as well get goin’ now. I’ll keep us on the road.”

Sam nodded, sure that Dean would, and bent back to the map again, flicking on his penlight to take a closer look. “Looks like…” he squinted and pulled map closer. “… maybe four or five hours from here.”

“Awesome.” Dean bent forward and watched the snow in the beams of his headlights. “The snow’s gonna follow us.”

Sam chuckled and folded the map back up. “Winchester luck.”

Dean nodded and drove on while Sam curled himself into the passenger door. He hoped whatever job their dad had found for them wasn’t going to end up kicking their asses right at Christmas.

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Sam opened the motel room door and sighed as a foot high wall of snow that had drifted up against the door toppled in on top of his feet. He shook out his sneakers and pulled his jacket tighter as he stepped outside. “Fantastic.” The little town of Bethel, Illinois had turned into a winter wonderland while they’d been asleep. The road in front of the motel was white, showing no signs of having been plowed and there wasn’t a car in sight. He glanced at the Impala and her blanket of snow and headed down the sidewalk instead toward the diner down the road. He didn’t feel like brushing off the car and smirked, knowing Dean would be driven to do it the moment he woke up and saw all that ‘white crap’ covering his baby. Sam would just avoid that job by not being there and coming back with hot coffee to placate him.

Dean groaned awake in a flurry of cold air as the motel room door closed and tugged the blanket over top of his head. “Asshole,” he muttered, knowing Sam was going off to find them coffee. He sighed and shoved the blanket back, emerging into the chilly air of the room. He reached over to the heater under the window between the beds and gave it a crank. It rumbled, spit a couple times and settled back to spewing less than warm air into the room. “Fantastic.” He thumped it with his fist and climbed out of bed. He bent to touch his toes, stretching his back out and then stood back up as he pulled the curtain aside and snarled at the image of his car. “Friggin’ hate winter. Look at all that white crap on you, baby.”

He turned away from the mess he was going to have to dig into and went into the bathroom scratching a hand through his spiky hair and yawning. By the time Dean came out, dressed and toweling his hair dry, the room door opened and his little brother came in. Dean burst out laughing. “What the hell happened to you?” Sam was covered in snow. It was caked in his hair, flattening it to his head like a white helmet. His cheeks below the white-crusted locks were bright red with cold and he held a wet, brown bag in his right hand that tore and dumped two crushed donuts to the floor as he watched.

“Just… shut up,” Sam growled. He pulled up the bag and threw it with a bad-tempered snarl. “You want coffee, you can go lick it out of the snow.”

Dean laughed again and wiped a hand over his face. “Oh, man.” He went to his brother and tossed his own towel over Sam’s head, giving his hair two hard rubs before his brother knocked his hands away and took the towel for himself. “What happened?”

Sam pulled the towel back enough to scowl at the grin on Dean’s face. “I slipped.”

Dean smiled, puckering his lips to keep from laughing and took a deep breath. “You slipped?” He felt the laugh coming again and fought it back as Sam glared at him again. “Did snow bunnies attack you? Were there snow bunnies?”

Sam rolled his eyes for patience when Dean burst into laughter again. “Jerk. I slipped on the ice under the damn snow and… rolled into the ditch… onto the coffees.” Sam turned and resisted the urge to punch his brother in the face when Dean wailed with laughter at seeing the brown stained snow on his backside.

“Holy… holy crap,” Dean gasped and backed away a few steps for his own safety as he got the laughter under control. He caught the towel Sam aimed at his face and watched his brother shrug out of his snow-crusted jacket stiffly. “You break anything important?”

Sam dropped the coat on the floor and kicked off his shoes in a pile of melting snow. “No.”

Dean snorted and moved aside as Sam stalked past him to the bathroom. “No, seriously.” He couldn’t help smiling as Sam turned a glare at him over his shoulder. “You hurt anywhere?”

“Nothing but my pride.”

Dean chuckled as the bathroom door banged closed and shook his head. “Only you, Sammy. Only you.” He had himself under control again by the time Sam came out of the bathroom with a towel wrapped around his hips and went to his bag, rooting through for clean, dry clothes. Dean’s eyebrows shot up when he saw his brother’s back. He whistled and stood, going over to him. “Geez, dude. That had to hurt.” There was a wide, long bruise beginning to show across the left side of Sam’s back over his kidney and up to his shoulder blade.

Sam twisted to knock his brother’s hand away and grimaced with discomfort. “It’s fine.”

“Shuddup.” Dean pushed Sam’s hand away and put his own to his back. “Stand still.”

“Nothing’s broken.”

“Uh huh.” Dean ignored him and began methodically pressing skilled fingers into the shower-warmed flesh along his ribs. Sam hissed in a few breaths and grunted once but the bones were sound. “Yeah, you’re good.”

“That’s what I said.” Sam grabbed his clothes and headed back to the bathroom. “I found out why dad sent us here before I went to get coffee.”

Dean glanced over to the little table and saw Sam’s laptop out on it. He scowled. That meant he still wasn’t sleeping as much as he should be. No wonder he’d ended up on his ass in the snow; the kid had to be exhausted at this point. He decided to let it go and not start an argument when Sam was already in a bad mood. “What’d you find?”

Sam went into the bathroom and closed the door most of the way, leaving it open just enough that Dean could hear him while he dressed. “Two dead and three injured.” He rolled his eyes as he tossed the towel aside and pulled on his boxer briefs. “It’s at a Christmas wonderland.”

“What the hell is that?” Dean asked and sat at the table, opening the laptop and letting it boot up.

“It’s like a haunted house but for Christmas, I guess.” Sam tugged his jeans up and winced as the bruise on his back pulled. It hurt like hell and was making it a little hard to breathe. “The house is big, like mansion big, and all decked out for Christmas. I’m pretty sure you can see the place from space with all the lights they’ve got on it.”

Dean opened the research folder Sam had left on the laptop’s desktop and clicked on an image. He whistled and nodded as the big house and the millions of lights covering it appeared on the screen. “It’s like the Walmart holiday aisle threw up all over it.”

Sam chuckled and pulled on his shirt. “I checked for signs, and there’s nothing demonic showing up in the area. I’m thinking ghost, or maybe cursed object.” He pulled the door open and came back out, wiggling his now warm bare feet into the thick pile carpet. “One of the articles about the place said it’s packed with antique ornaments and displays inside.”

Dean blew out a breath and opened one of the articles, scanning through it. “That’s not gonna make our job easier.”

Sam nodded. “On the upside, after the last guy was hanged with Christmas lights off the balcony in the foyer, they’ve closed it down. We can get in no problem and not worry about being disturbed.”

“Ouch.” Dean grimaced in sympathy and then sent a glance at his brother. “You want a neck brace for this job?” He chuckled when Sam flipped him off. “I’m just sayin’, man. Evil shit likes to go for your throat. Not that I can blame them. You’re annoying when you talk.”

“And you’re irritating when you breathe,” Sam shot back and pulled on his sneakers. They were still cold and wet, but he’d just have to make do until he could get his boots out of the trunk. “Can we go find coffee now?”

Dean laughed again and closed the laptop. He tugged his boots over and pulled them on. “Yeah, let’s get some grub and then go talk to the owners.” He’d seen that Sam had tracked down the current owners of the holiday house. They were the best bet for narrowing down what was going on, spirit or cursed object. He opened the door and stepped out, once again looking at his poor car buried beneath a foot of new-fallen snow.

“No,” Sam said firmly and brushed out past him. “I am NOT cleaning the car off for you.”

Dean grinned and raised his hands in defeat. “I wasn’t even gonna ask. I swear.” And he hadn’t been, figuring Sam’s thin thread of patience was already at its breaking point. He pulled out his keys and tossed them over. “Get in and warm her up while I clean her off. Aw, baby.” Dean went to the car and brushed a pile of snow off the rearview mirror.

Sam chuckled in spite of his bad mood. “Stop petting the car.”

Dean flipped his middle finger at his brother and opened the back door, pulling out the brush. He shoved it closed as the engine rumbled to life and started cleaning the roof gently. “He doesn’t understand us, baby. Don’t listen to him.”

Sam put his fingers up to the rattling vent in the dash as warm air started to blow out and watched the world slowly begin to appear as Dean cleared the snow. He looked out at the snow covered buildings and sighed. Jess would have loved it. She always had a soft spot for snow. Sam sniffed and scrubbed a hand over his face before his emotions could get the better of him again. He’d already had one crying jag in the ditch after he’d fallen, and he was glad no one had been there to witness it. He leaned back into the seat and smiled tolerantly while Dean made faces at him as he cleared the windshield.

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“Well, that was a whole lot of pointless,” Dean groused as they walked back to the Impala. He tugged his leather jacket closed against the brisk, wintry wind and ducked his head from the snow driven into his face.

Sam nodded and walked faster, wanting the warmth of the car. “I can’t believe he has no idea where they got all the crap in the holiday house. A responsible person would have kept records or at least the receipts.” He sighed as he pulled his door open and looked over the roof at his brother. “This is gonna be a pain in the ass.”

“You wanna head over there now and take a look around?” Dean pulled his own door open and was grateful the car had retained some of its warmth.

“Probably a good idea to go in before it gets dark. He did say, even though it’s closed, people still drive by sometimes to look at all the lights and crap out front.” Sam bent and got into the car, pulling the door closed with a creak at the same time as Dean. “Maybe we’ll get lucky and it’ll just be a ghost.” As soon as the words passed his lips, he paused for a moment and then shook his head almost imperceptibly at the absurdity of his comment -- and the fact that , for them, it was a perfectly normal statement.  
  
Dean snorted and turned the car on, smiling as warm air blasted from the vents into his face. “If it’s a cursed object, I say the whole damn house has an electrical accident.” He grinned over at his brother’s disgusted face. “With that many Christmas lights going, it’s not like anyone would even question it.”

“Dean, we’re not burning the house down.”

“Spoilsport.” Dean smiled and started the car moving, going much slower than he wanted to, but the streets were still a disaster. They were barely plowed, hadn’t been salted, and every time he took a turn, the Impala’s back end tried to slide out from under them thanks to the ice hiding beneath the snow. It was no wonder Sam had ended up ass over head earlier in the morning. It was ten nerve-wracking minutes until they reached the house. Dean slowed in front of the grounds the house sat on and looked at it through the high, wrought-iron fence as they drove. He rolled his eyes at the small army of life-size, inflatable holiday figures cluttering the wide lawn. There were reindeer, Santa Claus, elves, several toy soldiers, and various snowmen; even a massive, inflatable ‘snow’ globe, whirling glitter and sporting a miniature train circling within it.

“That’s… actually kind of creepy,” Sam observed and shook his head.

“’Least there aren’t any clowns.” Dean snorted at Sam’s dirty look and drove them down the block away from the house. He parked on a narrow, tree-lined street to the side of the mansion. It looked little used, and would be dark once night fell and hopefully free of prying eyes. The snow was still falling when they climbed out and Dean shivered. “Next year we’re doin’ Christmas somewhere warm, dude.”

Sam smiled while snow blew in his face and nodded. “Deal.”

“How long ‘til dark?” Dean asked as he popped the trunk and pulled out their weapons bag.

“About an hour; maybe less. The lights should come on in a half hour,” he said with a glance to his watch. “Back door?”

“Back door.” Dean closed the trunk, shouldered the bag and they trudged through the snow and ducked between the tall trees onto the side lawn of the mansion. “Should’a brought snow shoes.” He lifted his feet, breaking a trail through the foot-high layer of snow and around the side of the house to the back. “This place is big. Gonna be fun searchin’ it.”

Sam eyed the tall building beside them as they moved behind it. It was white, and all the trim around the roofs and windows had been painted red and green. Christmas lights hung everywhere, outlining each window and adorning the empty expanses of wall between in holiday shapes. Odds were they wouldn’t even need flashlights inside once all the lights came on. “This place is unreal.”

“Maybe it’s a spirit who’s honked off about Christmas.” Dean chuckled and climbed the back porch, kicking the snow off his boots and legs on the risers as he went. Sam stood behind his brother and kept his eyes out to the white expanse of lawn behind them while Dean picked the lock. The sun was beginning to set and casting a red glow to the snow-capped pines lining the yard. “Think it’s gonna get dark sooner than I thought.”

Dean pulled his picks out and turned the knob, grinning when the door swung open. He pulled the bag off his shoulder and took out the two sawed off shotguns, handing one up to Sam before he shouldered the bag again and stood. “Stay close until we get a lay of the place.”

Sam followed Dean inside and pushed the door closed behind him. He looked up and stared at what had once been a kitchen and was now a tacky, Christmas decoration bonanza. “Holy crap.” There were snow globes cluttering every inch of counter, some the size of his fist and others bigger than his head. Darkened strands of lights wove in and around them like vines and snaked up the cabinets to the ceiling where they were wrapped around the ceiling fan and its blades. “The guy wasn’t kidding when he said the house was packed on the inside.”

Dean moved along a counter and had to turn sideways to avoid knocking anything to the floor. “Great. Plenty of ammo for a pissed off ghost to throw at us.”

“Well, let’s not piss it off then.” Sam stuck his head out a near door into a hall. It was lined with small, decorated trees and foot-high statues of Santa Claus in various stages of decay from age.

“Hey.” Dean reached back and slapped his brother’s elbow. “Stick together, dumbass.”

Sam rolled his eyes and moved after Dean instead. “There’s a hall that runs along the kitchen. Saw a couple doors leading off of it.”

Dean nodded and reached the other side of the kitchen. “It’s like Santa threw up in here. I think I hate Christmas.” The dining room was just as cluttered as the kitchen. Angel tree toppers were perched on top of a dozen different candelabras, rather than candles, in a rainbow of colors. Some were porcelain, some were fabric, and a few looked like someone’s grandmother had crocheted them in the dark.

Sam jumped and saw his brother do the same when the sea of lights flicked to life outside and in. He slammed his eyes closed as they blinded him and had to blink a few times to clear his vision. “Ok, that’s gonna get annoying.” While some of the light strings beamed steadily, others blinked on and off, and still others seemed to run in a wave, changing colors with each wave. The effect was a little dizzying. The windows of the dining room were lit with a glow from the lights outside them.

Dean brought his gun up, getting a bad feeling and then rolled his eyes when Christmas music began to play through the house. It was several different tunes from several different locations and it made his teeth itch. “I find whatever’s playin’ the damn holiday hits, I’m ganking it.”

Sam chuckled and followed Dean out into the hall. He stopped and rolled his eyes when Dean picked up the skirt of a three-foot angel by the front door and kicked his brother’s foot. “Dude. Knock it off.”

“Like you never wondered.” Dean grinned shamelessly at Sam and let the skirt fall.

Sam smiled at his brother’s antics and walked cautiously into the living room. “Whoa.” A small train tooted softly as it wound into sight from beneath a small mountain in the midst of a gigantic model train set. It took up most of the room and was covered in its own miniature lights and holiday decorations on the little towns dotted around the tiny landscape. The city in the center glowed with them and a bright, crystal star hung above the top of the little city’s church steeple. “That is… someone really likes trains.”

Dean eased in between the massive train display and the wall, heading toward a set of stairs he could see behind it. “How the hell do people even move in here?” He put his free hand in his pocket and switched on his homemade EMF meter listening for a telltale whine, but there was none. “All quiet so far except for the damn Christmas music.”

Sam snorted and followed. He had to stop halfway there and turn sideways to squeeze past the edge of the train set and the wall. “I really hope it’s just a ghost. I do not want to have to sift through the mounds of crap stuck in here to find a cursed object.”

Dean looked up the stairs and sighed as he could see the glow of Christmas lights from above as well. He looked back to find Sam with his eyes closed, pinching the bridge of his nose like he was in pain. “Hey, you good?”

Sam nodded and dropped his hand. “The lights are making my head hurt. I’m fine.”

“It’s not, you know… freaky shining stuff?”

“No, Dean. It’s not freaky shining stuff.” Sam said with irritation in his voice and waved an arm first at the general décor and then at the stairs. “Can we get moving now?”

“Calm down, princess. It was a valid question.” Dean turned his back on Sam’s glare and started up the stairs. He was still adjusting to the knowledge that his little brother had some serious psychic mojo going on. It scared him, not because he was scared of Sam -- he’d never be afraid of his little brother \-- but he was scared for him, for what it could mean. All of that he kept to himself, because he knew Sam, and he’d think Dean was afraid of him no matter what Dean said. The meter in his pocket began to whine softly as he went up the stairs, and he brought the shotgun back up. “We got company.”

Sam placed his feet carefully between the little army of stuffed animals with Santa hats on the stairs and followed his brother up. The stairs, rather than emptying onto a hall, opened into a large space that seemed to run most of the length of the house. It looked as though the walls had been knocked out to create the large space, and six tall, decorated and lighted trees ringed the space with smaller trees in between. In row upon row in front of them, like an army massing for war, were nutcracker soldiers, the blades at the ends of their wooden muskets glinting in the flickering lights.

Dean strode out into the large room with Sam at his back and shook his head. “I just do not get people.”

Sam watched him tip over one of the nutcrackers with the toe of his boot and turned away to investigate the other side of the room. “There’s a door back here, I think. Hang on.” He squeezed between two trees and found a small, narrow door in the wall. Sam turned the knob and pushed it open. The light from the trees showed it to be cluttered with half-decorated trees and boxes. “Storage closet.” He pulled the door shut and scooted back out from between the trees as the meter in his brother’s pocket suddenly picked up in volume.

Dean turned back around and gasped. “Sam!” Strands of blinking lights from the trees behind his brother whipped out and around him, wrapping around his arms and shoulders and chest, pulling him back.

“Crap!” Sam grunted as his back slapped into the wall and more strands of lights snaked across the wall from either side to wrap him up even further. “Dean! Behind you!” he yelled as his shotgun clattered to the floor.

Dean spun and watched the rows of nutcracker soldiers begin to move. “No freakin’ way.” He backed up a step and fired into them. The rock salt round reduced three of the toys to splinters while the miniature army began to form ranks and advance on him. He fired again and destroyed four more. He took a quick glance over his shoulder and saw Sam wriggling in his cheery, lighted bonds and snarled. Dean cracked the shotgun open and quickly reloaded as he backed toward Sam. “Sammy?”

“Little… busy!” Sam strained against the strings of lights and succeeded only in freeing his right arm below the elbow and tried not to panic as a strand of lights began to wind around his neck.

Dean popped a second shell into the shotgun and glanced up. His eyes widened and he stared as the back row of toy soldiers raised their little rifles and leveled them at him. He rolled his eyes. He’d started to laugh when he heard the impossible sound of tiny guns going off. Dean dove to the side as they fired and felt warm pain bloom along his left arm as he fell away to hit the floor in a heap. He pulled his arm around as he rolled to sit and stared in open shock at the three, miniscule bullet holes in his sleeve. “Son of a bitch!”

“Stop… stop screw… screwin’ ‘round!” Sam’s voice hitched and wheezed through the room.

Dean groaned and got back to his feet. He sent a quick, concerned glance to his brother and quirked a brow. “You just gonna hang around all night?”

Sam scowled at him and pulled on the strand of lights trying to strangle him. He waved his other hand, still trapped to his side, at the little wooden soldiers turning on Dean again. “Go… go play with your toys.”

Dean grinned as Sam succeeded in pulling the lights out enough to let him gasp in grateful breaths and turned his attention back to the murderous toys. “Alright, you little bastards.” He fired into the center of the mass of miniature soldiers, splintering a half dozen, fired again, taking out as many the second time, and then flipped his shotgun around in his hands. He used it like a golf club, bending low to swing and scythe through the soldiers, ducking each time a group of them managed to let off a volley. It was possibly the strangest battle he had ever found himself in; definitely in the top five at the very least.

Sam at last managed to pull the loop of lights trying to strangle him over his head. He could feel trickles of blood running down his throat from where they had pressed to tightly and groaned. He hated being strangled and every damn thing seemed to go for his neck at least once. Sam saw his brother laying waste to the nutcrackers and irreverently decided he was going to find one to give to him for Christmas this year as an appropriate gift.

“Dean, behind you!” he called as more of the soldiers lined up to take another shot and smiled when Dean whirled about and bowled them into splinters like bowling pins. Sam started working his right hand down behind his back in search of his knife and heard a strange sort of soft, swishing, thumping sound from his left. He looked over at the stairs and saw the angel whose skirt Dean had peeked up. Somehow she was there. She wobbled unsteadily at the top of the stairs and then turned for his big brother. Sam opened his mouth, taking a deep breath to shout a warning but a thick strand of garland slapped over his face and into his mouth, choking off his voice.

“Little… friggin… pains… in my… ass!” Dean shouted, punctuating each word with a swing of his shotgun until he had nearly all of the nutcrackers in pieces on the floor. He grinned, turned to check on Sam and gasped to find himself confronted with the angel from beside the door downstairs. Before he could do anything, she slammed into him and bowled him over backwards. Dean tried to stop his momentum, tried to find something to grab onto, but there was nothing, and he closed his eyes as they crashed through a window. There was the sickening feeling of weightlessness as they fell and the cold air biting into his face, and then he grunted as he impacted with the ground. He sank down into the foot deep layer of snow and saw stars for a moment when his head snapped back and found the frozen earth beneath the snow.

“That… sucked,” Dean groaned and opened his eyes. He coughed, feeling his back burn with an ache, but was thankful for the snow that had broken his fall enough to save his life. The angel doll lay atop him, still wiggling as though she were trying to find a way to kill him. It was weirdly even creepier than the attack of the wooden soldiers, and Dean got a foot under the lightweight body and kicked her off to the side to flail uselessly in the snow. He looked up to the broken-out window high above him and sat up slowly. He needed to get back up there and make sure his brother was alright.

“Crap,” Dean winced and held a hand to his back as he slowly gained his feet. Falling snow landed on his face, melting into his lashes and blurring his vision as he stood. A rustle of snow and something else made him freeze. Dean turned and stared incredulously. He had landed on the front lawn. All around him stood the army of huge, inflatable lawn ornaments. The Santas and reindeer, snowmen and angels towered above him and seemed to loom menacingly as they slowly wobbled to and fro and advanced on him. “Oh, you gotta be kidding me.” Dean looked around for his shotgun and spotted a long, narrow depression in the snow near where he’d landed. He dove for it and dug his hands into the snow until he came up with the white-encrusted weapon. He stood again and backed toward the front porch while Frosty the snowman’s wide face tilted and loomed over him.

“Nope.” Dean raised the shotgun and fired. The rock salt pierced the thin material and the figure began to deflate as he watched. Dean ducked between two more and ran up the steps of the front porch. He kicked in the door and slammed it closed behind him while the inflatable figures massed in front of the porch. “Sammy!”

Sam watched his brother vanish out the window and a surge of fear and rage gave him strength. He got hold of the garland smothering him and ripped it away. “Dean!” Sam thrashed against the strings holding him and tore his flickering prison away from the wall, dropping to the floor on his knees in a tangle of lights. He pulled loops of the things over his head and tossed them aside. A shotgun blast from outside through the broken window jerked his head up and made him smile with relief; Dean may be down, literally, but he was definitely not out.

“Come on,” Sam growled and wrenched more lights over his head. He took hold of the tree beside him when it started to bend in on him and shoved it over to its side. “AH!” Sam shouted in sudden pain and looked down to see two of the wooden nutcracker soldiers beside him with their tiny bayonets plunged into his right thigh. “You little bastards!” He grabbed them up in both hands before they could fire on him and threw them across the room to clatter behind the far row of trees. His brother’s voice from the room below made Sam heave a breath of relief.

“Dean! I’m ok! Gimme a sec!” Sam tore off the last of the lights and got to his feet, limping slightly with his wounded thigh as he scooped up his shotgun from the floor. He kicked over a stuffed bear at the top of the stairs that growled at him and started down them.

Dean was halfway around the massive train set when his little brother appeared on the stairs. “Dude, you good?” He appraised Sam with a critical eye, not missing the spots of blood on his throat or the blood beneath the hand he had clamped to his right thigh.

Sam nodded and cheerfully stomped two more bears as he reached the bottom. “Couple of your toy soldiers had a go at me. How about you? That was a hell of a fall.”

Dean grinned. “Landed in the snow. Now, how about we figure out what the hell’s goin’ on around here and end this?”

“We should…” Sam trailed off as his eyes were caught once again by the small, glittering gem hanging above the little city in the center of the train set. It was slowly rotating now and seemed to be floating all on its own as it winked in the lights. “Dean.”

Dean followed his brothers’ eyes and narrowed his own at the gemstone. “Well, that ain’t normal.”

“Cursed object?” Sam asked and went to the edge of the train set.

Dean nodded. “Cursed object. Lucky me I’ve got a small curse box in the trunk just big enough for that bad boy.” He stretched out over the set and snarled as his hand stopped more than a foot away. “You reach it?”

Sam shook his head as he did the same, reaching out with his bloodied right hand but not coming close enough. “We’ll have to take it apart. This thing probably comes apart in sections.” He bent and ducked under the table for a look. At that moment, a howl seemed to go through the house. The Christmas music that had been playing before seemed to gain in volume, becoming deafening. Wind roared through the room.

“Oh, crap.” Dean ducked as a snow globe from a shelf on the wall suddenly flew at him and crashed into the corner in a spray of glittery water. “Think we pissed it off!”

Sam gave up finesse for necessity. He stood and took hold of the edge of the table. He wrenched it up, twisting as he did, and felt it come loose. A whole section of the train set tilted and began to slide as he shoved it off toward the floor.

“Sam, duck!”

Sam listened instinctively and went to a knee, looking up in time to see several large snow globes sail over his head and across the room. “Thanks.”

“Hurry it up!” Dean turned and fired a round of rock salt into the two, three-foot-high Santa dolls that moved into the doorway.

Sam kicked the part of the table he’d destroyed aside and stepped over it, reaching toward the center of the little city. “Almost.” He snatched his hand out and closed it around the gemstone. It burned into his palm as he brought his hand back and straightened. “Got it!”

“Let’s go!” Dean yelled over the music. Sam reached him and, when he would have gone for the front door, Dean grabbed his arm and shoved him down the hall. “Nope. Trust me. Back door.” He didn’t want them having to wade through the army of inflatable figures out front.

Sam ran down the hall as fast as he could, knocking statues and dolls that wobbled into their path out of the way. He turned into the kitchen and slid to a stop. “Uh… not good.”

“Move it!” Dean banged into his brother’s back and gave him a shove while he eyed the dozens of snow globes on the counters and shelves as they rocked frantically and began to lift into the air a few at a time. “Door! Now!” He followed close behind Sam as they moved. Dean grunted in pain as a large snow globe smashed into the back of his left shoulder and knocked him off balance.

“Dean!” Sam grabbed hold of him and shoved Dean in front of him as he opened the door. He pushed his brother out and then followed, going to his knees in a hail of snow globes as one crashed into the side of his head.

“Shit.” Dean tugged Sam out of the way and reached in, pulling the door closed with a slam. He heard the impact of a barrage of snow globes banging and smashing into the wood door hard enough to rattle it in its frame. “Come on. Sammy?”

Sam shook his head to clear the dizziness and got to his feet with his brother’s arm. “Yeah. I’m good,” he hissed and forced himself not to let go of the gem still burning in his fist. “We need the curse box and fast.”

Dean grinned and steadied him down the stairs. “Just try to keep up.” They broke into a run, following the tracks in they had left earlier and that the falling snow had yet to fill. As they jogged clumsily through the foot-high snow back across the yard, Dean looked back to the front of the house and pushed Sam into a faster run. The inflatable lawn ornaments were starting to round the corner of the house and come after them. “Must go faster.”

Sam burst through the trees screening the yard and thumped into the side of the Impala with a groan. “Trunk.”

“On it.” Dean slid to a stop on the snowy street and jammed his key in the lock, pulling the trunk open. He dug through the hidden compartment until he found what he wanted \-- a small curse box Pastor Jim had given him the last time he’d been to visit. ‘In case of emergencies’, the pastor had said, and Dean smiled as he tugged it out of the mess. “Ok, here we go!”

Sam watched Dean open the fist-sized box and held his hand over it. He unclenched his fist and the glowing, glittering gem tumbled from his palm into the box where Dean slammed the lid closed on it. There was a concussion to the air that came from the house and a moment later, the cacophony of Christmas music that had followed them out cut off abruptly, leaving silence in its wake. “Whoa.”

Dean went back to the trees and squeezed through them for a look. The house was still lit and there was a line of inflatable ornaments across the lawn but they were still now; motionless and harmless. He grinned and tossed the box, catching it easily before going back to his brother. “That was easy.”

Sam stared and then rolled his eyes, shaking out his right hand. “You’re nuts, you know that?” There was a small burn in the center of his palm from the gem and it hurt like hell; not to mention his right thigh where he’d been stabbed with the tiny blades, his throat that burned from the scrape of too tight Christmas lights and, he raised a hand to his head and came away with blood and snorted. “Yeah. Real easy.” He plunged his hand into the snow for a long moment, which eased the burn somewhat, or at least numbed it.

Dean rolled his arm and looked at the little bullet holes and shrugged. “Could’a been worse.” He set the little curse box back in the trunk and dropped it closed. He checked his watch and then chuckled. “Merry Christmas, Sammy.”

Sam snorted and then started to laugh as he turned and went to the passenger door. “Just our run-of- the-mill Winchester Christmas then.” As he shook some of the snow from his hand, he surreptitiously palmed a good amount that he squeezed into misshapen snowball while he walked. Sam opened the door before lobbing it at Dean and catching him right in the side of the head. He ducked with Dean's shout and slid hastily into his seat, knowing he was safe in the car. 

Dean opened his own door and then glared at his brother while trying to brush the icy slush out of his collar. He'd get payback later. “You’re not makin’ egg nog tonight,” he said instead.

Sam chuckled and folded himself down into his seat; satisfied. “Yours is too watery.”

“Mine you can drink without making your liver beg for mercy.” Dean reached over the back seat and grabbed a couple rags, tossing them into his brother’s lap. “Don’t bleed on my seats.” He watched Sam press one of the rags to his thigh and quirked a concerned brow at him. “Seriously, how bad is it?”

Sam waved a hand dismissively. “Couple of punctures. They’re not even that deep.” He felt around the cut in his hairline and grimaced. “Don’t think this is too bad either. How about you?”

Dean put the car in gear and started them back toward their motel with a smile. “Dude, my jacket’s hurt worse than I am.” He held his left arm out across the car toward Sam and the Impala swerved a little on the road. “Look what those little bastards did to it!”

“Dean! Eyes on the road, you maniac!” Sam laughed and shoved his brother’s arm away.

Dean chuckled and straightened them out. “Wuss.” He reached out and flicked on the radio. Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer filled the car. Dean gave one look to Sam, seeing the same expression on his face, and nodded with a smile when Sam pushed the Metallica tape in instead. As the chords of Stone Cold Crazy filled the car, they nodded their heads together in time with the music and drove into the falling snow.

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Merry Christmas!


End file.
